Lock, Stock and Oh Yes, There's A Dragon
by AlreadyPainfullyGone
Summary: My 100th fic! And obviously, it had to be cracky, and porny, and weird. So, I give you - AU in which Dean is locked in a castle, guarded by a dragon...who might have a crush on him
1. Chapter 1

Dean is bored.

Really, he's always bored. There's a finite amount of stuff to do in a castle, particularly an abandoned castle. And he's done them all. At least eight times. He's run along the ramparts, he's shot at birds with homemade arrows, he's climbed the outside of his tower, to collect the wild berries that grow from a tree in a cleft stone at the very top. He's read every book in the library. Well, almost every book. The five interesting looking ones. He's cooked every recipe he possibly can with the rations that are brought to him each month. He's built a fort from loose stones. Built intricate mazes and designs. He's learnt how to climb and jump from pretty much every part of the castle, and practically every way he can amuse himself physically, alone.

And now he's bored.

He's been bored for three months, two weeks and three days. He knows because he keeps a calendar of how long he's been at the castle. In total, it has been, fifteen years and five months since he was imprisoned, on his fifteenth birthday. He's now thirty, and getting kind of old to be a prince.

It doesn't help that the castle is surrounded by a moat of boiling lava, at the bottom of a thousand foot deep gorge, over which a narrow, rickety wooden bridge is the only way of passing. Dean had to credit Alistair with designing the perfect prison. Dean had lost count of the knights who had died just trying to get to him.

Oh, and it was guarded by a dragon. But so far, no one had gotten close enough to even see the dragon.

Dean was trapped in the castle for...well, probably for the rest of his life. But, the reason for him being there was all because some creepy black magician had come to his father's palace, and thought he was pretty. Yeah. Really creepy, considering that Dean was fifteen at the time, and still running around in short pants, learning to fight with a wooden sword. Alistair had asked King John for his son's hand in marriage, and, although John was pretty open minded, he could see that Alistair was incredibly creepy. So he'd said no.

Three nights later, Dean had been kidnapped and brought to the castle. A day after that, the dragon had been installed as extra protection.

So, Dean had grown up in the castle, and now he can hardly remember what his former home and parents even looked like. His younger brother is a brown haired blur in his memory.

Thankfully, Alistair had only visited a couple of times before he'd gotten bored and moved on to stalking Prince Balthazar of Enochia. But that meant that Dean was forgotten, like an old toy, in his prison.

He rolled out of bed, because if he was going to be bored, he was not going to be lonely too. He found some clothes and put them on. He'd had to make them himself from old upholstery, once he'd outgrown the clothes that Alistair had brought him. Thankfully, the dragon still went off once a month and brought back rations, or he'd have starved a long time ago.

Dean hurried down the tower steps, across the weed riddled courtyard with the creepy statue of the little boy being eaten by wolves. (Seriously, what had happened to this Alistair guy when he was a kid?) and on towards the lower gate that led to the dragons lair.

Dean stuck his head into the darkness and whistled. "CAAAAAAAAAAAS!" He yelled, when no reply was forthcoming.

A plume of fire lit up the interior of the darkened space for a second.

"Stop sulking and get out here – I'm bored."

There was a sound very much like a sigh, and then the floor jumped and rumbled and Castiel woke himself and come towards the gate. He emerged into the morning light, first his long, royal blue snout, followed by his eyes, and the large spines on his head, then his long, long back – the length of three horses at least, and finally his tail, ending in a tuft of black feathers. His scales deepened in colour from blue to black along his body, and his claws were white.

He glared at Dean.

"Wanna race?"

The dragon yawned expressively, then laid down on the stones and tucked itself up for a snooze, it's great, black wings fanning and folding pointedly.

Dean stuck his tongue out. "There's nothing to doooooo!"

As he'd grown to adulthood alone and in the company of only a dragon, Dean had not learned the finer points of maturity, diplomacy or tact.

Castiel sighed and got to his feet, looking down at Dean sternly.

"Please?" Dean asked.

Castiel rolled his eyes and then took off at a run, towards the main courtyard.

"Cheat!" shouted Dean, sprinting after his scaled rump.

Castiel won the race, but as he had twice as many feet as Dean, and as he was about fifteen feet longer, Dean couldn't really feel all that bad about it. They ended up in the orchard, where tart green apples were lying in the grass. Dean did not like apples, but Castiel loved them, so he peeled them and fed them to the dragon slice by slice. Castiel closed his eyes and made the weird little trilling noise he made whenever he was happy.

When the sun came out, Castiel rolled onto his back and squinted up at the sky, growling sleepily. His belly scales were pale blue, and Dean watched them shine in the sun. After a while he got up, taking the apples and the paring knife with him, climbing onto Castiel's belly and stretching out so they he could still feed him slivers of fruit. Castiel trilled and screeched softly, like a bird.

Dean's only had two friends in his life, and one of them he can barely remember, a prince from some other kingdom. Castiel is his one real friend, and he's not even a person.

Castiel lays his wings flat out on the ground, sunning them, and Dean lies with his legs and arls spread, cheek pressed flat to the scales over Castiel's heart. It thumps quietly, on and on and on. Dean sighs, fingers touching and stroking the smooth scales. They're shiny and slick as glass or polished stone.

"You're pretty." Dean says, almost to himself. His fifteen years alone have left him with almost no inhibitions – because, who is there around to hear him? Or see him when he bathes in the courtyard fountain. Even Castiel isn't around then.

The heart under his ear beats a little faster, and Castiel makes a small sound in his throat. Dean rubs his cheek against one of the scales, still wondering at its smoothness after all these years. They're like jewels...moonstone maybe. There's a piece of moonstone in one of the chairs up in the tower, and it's one of Dean's favourite things. He rubs his lips against the scale, something he always does when idly exploring something like this – a blanket, a leaf he finds when lying in the grass.

Castiel makes the noise again, slightly louder, and Dean jumps as the spines on Castiel's head stand up a little.

"Cas?"

Castiel breathes out and wriggles, trying to dislodge him. Dean slides to the grass and watches as Castiel turns over onto his belly, legs tucking in under him, wings wrapping around himself protectively.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Dean edges round to Castiel's face, which is lowered towards the ground. He reaches out and strokes Castiel's nose.

Castiel snuffles, and presses lower to the ground, but the spines on his head rise a little more.

Dean looks at them, and curiosity gets the better of him, he reaches up and touches one.

The reaction is instantaneous. Castiel drops his nose to the ground and rubs his face against the sunny grass with a soft coo. His wings flap up, and his legs kick out, and Dean catches a glimpse of something firm and insistent protruding from between Castiel's legs.

Dean doesn't really know what to do. It's one thing to say he has no inhibitions, quite another to say that he's ready to tackle such issues as his draconian guardian's demonstration of sexuality. He didn't even know Castiel had a sexuality. He was male sure, but, he was a dragon.

Castiel whimpers and tries to ball himself up again, and Dean runs his fingers over the spine in a reflex gesture. This time, Castiel's tail thrashes, and he growls at the sky.

Dean swallows. He has no idea what it going on. But he knows he doesn't want it to stop.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean has no idea what dragon anatomy and human anatomy have in common. He knows nothing about dragon anatomy, period. Still, if Castiel likes having his spines stroked – then stroke them Dean shall.

He starts off just reaching up to run his fingers over them, but as Castiel trills and snarls and slowly hoods his eyes in pleasure, he leans further down towards Dean, eventually placing his head heavily on Dean's shoulder. From there it's easy for Dean to stand on his toes, twisting a little so he can put his lips on one of the smooth spines.

Castiel growls and presses closer, but Dean turns away from him a little, not entirely happy with the one sidedness of things. He's been alone for years, alone through most of puberty and the best years of being young and hot – with no one to share it with. Except Cas of course, who'd seen him every day, but never doing _that. That _was a thing that Castiel had made very clear that Dean was free to do in his own room, and nowhere else.

(Ok, so Dean still ignored him and did it wherever he wanted, the fountain, the library, the roof – but never the orchard, that was Castiel's favourite place.)

Castiel pulled back and nosed at Dean's face, apparently torn between wanting to give him scolding eyes, and whimpering for more touching.

"Touch me." Dean says, and Castiel shuffles his clawed feet in answer, opening his mouth a little to display his sharp teeth, his wickedly forked tongue. He has nothing to touch Dean with.

Dean leans in and kisses the side of Castiel's mouth, where the teeth as blunter. Castiel has no lips, just dry, smooth scales. They're cool as the stones at the bottom of the fountain, the ones Dean likes to find with holes in them, that he can suck the spring water from. He traces the scales with his tongue, one hand reaching up to rub Castiel's spines, his body bowing forwards in search of friction and touch. Castiel shifts impotently, having no way to touch Dean back. After a while, Dean feels something nudging him, and he reaches for it, his fingers catching in the feathery tip of Cas's tail, which is clumsily dragging down his back, flicking up against his bare neck. It's nice, good to be touched, but Dean needs more.

Castiel is not satisfied either, and this becomes clear when he rears up, showing Dean where the focus of his arousal lies, weighty and unfulfilled. Dean nips at his lower lip, wondering how he's supposed to get Castiel to completion when the entire surface of his dick is covered in smooth, unfeeling scales.

Castiel's front feet pound back down onto the earth, and he too seems at a loss as to how to proceed.

Dean might be immature, and probably pretty uneducated, as far as potential rulers of a kingdom go, but he's not dumb. Especially when it comes to alleviating the all consuming burn of this need.

"Get on your back." He tells Castiel, half expecting resistance. But Castiel rolls over almost instantly, tail knocking a hapless apple tree flying in his haste.

Dean scrambles up into the dip between Cas's outstretched thigh and his belly, crawling up onto the dragon's chest before turning back and crouching in front of Castiel's penis. Castiel growls softly, and Dean runs a hand over his smooth belly scales comfortingly. "I'm getting to it."

It's not that different to his own dick, which is definitely going to help him work out what he's doing. It's bigger, obviously, as long as Dean's forearm, hand included. About as thick as Dean's thigh. There's small opening in the tip, there's no swollen head on it though, just a sort of...ring of raised, diamond shaped scales a few inches from the end. There's no way in all of Hellvetica (Alistair's kingdom, situated between the idyllic Enochia, and the home he can barely remember, Impaladia) that thing is fitting inside of him. So really, there's only one option.

Dean presses a tentative finger to the opening in Cas's dick, and the dragon _roars_.

The sound makes the birds on the parapets above them fly off in alarm, and Dean freezes, mid-exploratory poke.

Castiel's wings flap against the ground, flattening the grass and stirring up dust clouds.

Dean hesitantly moves his finger a little further, and Castiel snarls, hind quarters rocking up off of the ground and forcing Dean's finger deeper with apparently no discomfort. Inside, Castiel's body is as warm and tight as Dean knows his own body to be, and he wastes no time in slipping another finger inside of him.

Castiel's talons rake at the earth in frustration as Dean takes his time in working up to four fingers. There's a kind of thin silvery oil that Castiel's body apparently produces, that makes the whole process much easier, even if the tiny specs of, what looks like mica, in the smooth slick distract Dean by glinting in the sun.

Dean unlaces the front of his home-made pants and rubs his palm over the erection that's been trapped against his leg. There's no doubt that he's ready to do this. He's been ready since he was sixteen. Ready for someone, anyone (not Alistair) to make him _feel_. But, Castiel is his guardian, his only friend, and he feels a latent wave of unease.

This lasts until something smooth and wet traces over his exposed buttocks, and he realises with a sudden influx of arousal, that Castiel has curled the sharp points of his tongue inwards, the better to use it to reach him safely. Dean spreads his knees, settling flush to Castiel's belly, while the talented tongue pulls his pants down further, finally setting loose one razor point to slash the fabric open. Dean dips forwards curiously, licking gently at the hole in front of him – Castiel's screech rends the air, his blunted tongue pushing abruptly against Dean's ass. Dean whimpers at the feel of the squirming muscle against his sensitive flesh, his mouth is filled with the taste of spring water and salt.

Dean inches forwards and finally enters Castiel. The dragon sighs throatily, and his hind legs absently claw at the air as Dean thrusts into him. For Dean, it is the sexual experience of his life, and he lets his eyes fall closed, his skin basking in the late summer sun as he moves inside of Castiel.

The wet, squirming pressure at his rear intensifies, and he groans loudly when Castiel finally gets him slick enough to worm his tongue inside. The stretch burns, but the feeling of hot, wet, flexing on his nerves is more than enough to compensate. Dean struggles to hold himself up and keep moving into Castiel as his body heats up, and sense starts to waver in the face of pleasure.

He's only halfway to his orgasm when Castiel withdraws his tongue in a quick movement, turning his head to blaze fire at the sky, a fifteen foot column of bright, white flame. Dean stills for a second, and in that second, Castiel's body bucks, and jerks, and hot, thick fluid wells from inside of him, shooting through his dick, around Dean's and spilling out into the open. It runs down Dean's thighs and shins, and the incredible heat and wet pressure of it, sends him over the edge with a low sound. He flattens himself to Castiel's slippery scales, panting against the root of the dragon's cock, and shivering as his release over takes him.

For the longest moment, they are both still.

Castiel's enormous form breathes in and out, his heart thumbs twice...

And then, he begins to shrink.

Dean stirs his lethargic limbs and slides off of Castiel's body, falling onto the crushed grass to watch as the dragon slowly grows smaller and smaller. His scales get lighter, pinker, until they mould together and become pale skin, the dark spines on his head smooth out into unruly dark hair. Claws become hands, his tail becomes a shapely back. And soon, Dean finds himself on the ground before a man. A naked, astonished man, still smattered with dragon come.

The man steadies himself on his human feet, and looks down at his hands.

"I'm..."

Dean is shocked when the man darts forwards and wraps him firmly into a hug.

"I thought I'd never change back." He says excitedly, his voice as rough as could be expected of someone who'd spent fifteen years breathing fire. "I'd forgotten I _could _be changed back."

"Who..."

"It's me, Dean." The man backs up to look him in the eye. "Prince Castiel, of Enochia?"

And Dean vaguely remembers the summer he'd spent in Enochia with his father, meeting their royal family, including Prince Balthazar, and his younger brother, Prince Castiel, who Dean had chosen as his playmate that summer – and who had been his one and only friend, before he was imprisoned with Castiel, the dragon. The name was the same, but he'd forgotten...or maybe Alistair had made certain that he would forget.

Who better to guard his prize, than a loyal friend, cursed into the form of a great monster – the only cure for which was union with a tiny, breakable human, who would never even consider bedding a dragon.

Alistair had severely underestimated Dean's ability to overlook anything in the face of sex.

"You've been stuck here, all this time?"

"I could leave to bring back food but...where else would I go?" Castiel says, "My family would have killed me, and all the other kingdoms live in fear of dragons...and I would never leave you."

"No?"

Castiel shakes his head.

Dean kisses him, and Castiel hums happily.

"Having lips again is, most satisfying."

"I bet." Dean touches Castiel's hair, his skin, trying to memorise this new shape of his. "Besides, now you get to go home. Be a prince again."

Castiel looks thoughtful. "I would much rather return to Impaladia with you."

"That would be..." Dean has a thought, and it's not a nice one. "My Dad he...he's probably..."

Castiel looks rueful. "You are now, by rights. The king. I saw enough of the world to know that."

"Come with me." Dean says. "I need someone...I need you."

"Then you'll always have me." Castiel takes Dean's hand. "There are caverns under the lava flow...we could be in Impaladia by morning if we left now."

Dean pulls Castiel forwards and kisses him, laying him back onto the grass and covering his sun warmed skin with his own.

"It's been fifteen years, I can wait a few more hours."


End file.
